The Girl Next Door
by AstoriaGrace
Summary: Fourteen year old Draco Malfoy's life changes forever when he leaves his Manor for what seems like a whole other world. Not all changes, however, are as bad as they may seem. Some are even surprisingly pleasant- especially when you have a friend to go through them with you. Rated T for scenes of physical abuse. [cannon-divergent AU, OOC] Complete!
1. The Study

1\. The Study

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 _A/N: Before I begin this story, I'd like to say that the views represented in these chapters are NOT necessarily the views held by me, the author. For instance, I am actually a massive Lucissa shipper, and do not believe that Lucius would ever beat or abuse Cissy or Draco. I believe that Lucius and Narcissa had a beautiful, brave, and very respectful relationship. Were the Malfoys flawed people? Yes, and extremely so, but I believe that their strong family bond (especially during the trying years of 1996-1998) was a redeeming characteristic. Just giving you a hint of my personal beliefs before you delve into this Lucius-is-a-monster fest._

 _WARNING: This chapter contains corporal punishment of both a minor and a woman for unjust reasons. It's non-explicit, but be careful if this might upset you!_

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I rap softly on the door to my father's study, taking a deep breath and trying to calm my shaking body. "You, um, you summoned me, father?"

"Come in."

I close my eyes and swing the study door open. My father sits with his head bowed, his long white-blond hair tied neatly back, and his elbows resting on his mahogany desk. My mother is also in the room, sitting stiffly on a low divan with her lips tightly pursed.

"Take a seat, Draco." My father motions to the uncomfortable looking stool in the center of the room, and I hurry towards it on unsteady legs. "As I'm sure you're aware, your mother and I have asked you hear for a reason. We received an owl from Hogwarts today, did you know that?"

My heart drops like a stone. I grit my teeth, blocking out a groan of horror as I fight for a response. "No sir." I say quietly, staring intently at my feet.

"Look at me when I speak to you, Draco." My father's deep voice is simultaneously silky and commanding, sending shivers over my spine. I raise my eyes, looking fearfully into his stone cold eyes, which everyone says I inherited. "The letter included your grades, as well as the percentage with which they compared to those of the other students."

I swallow, only to find that my tongue has adhered itself to the roof of my dry mouth. This is going to be a repeat of my first year—and last year. I just know it. "Yes, father." I choke out, hugging myself instinctively to stop the spasms in my arms and chest.

"Do you have any idea of how you did?" My father raises himself in his seat, his long fingers tracing a plump envelope on the desk before him.

He's playing a cat and mouse game with me—he does often. No matter what I say, the outcome will be the same. He's only doing this to shatter my nerve. "No sir—but I did try my best, and-"

"Silence!" My father bellows, shoving his chair back and striding over to me. He seizes my ear, twisting my head to the side awkwardly. I wince in pain, sealing my lips and resolving not to make a sound. "When a Malfoy gives his best, he always succeeds. You did not succeed in anything but failing me, _again._ Do you understand what that means? It means that you are either lying, and didn't give your best effort, or you are not a Malfoy. Which is it, then?"

I open my mouth, trying to make a noise, but nothing comes.

"Lucius. That's enough—he's just a boy." My mother says softly, and my father gives my ear another vicious tug.

"He is fourteen years old. I should have thought that three years at Hogwarts would have made a man out of him—I should have sent you to Durmstrang instead!"

I inhale sharply and turn my eyes upon my father. I ignore the fast rising heat in my cheeks and force myself to speak. "I _am_ a man! But I am not a liar. I gave my best effort—Hermione Granger is just…"

My father snatches the letter from his desk, pulling a gold embossed slip of parchment from the envelope and thrusting it into my hands. "Read." He commands, and I obey.

I earned high marks in everything. There isn't a single class where I got below Exceeds Expectations. I'm the second best for third year… Granger is just better. "Father…" My voice trails off at his angry glare. "I- I'm sorry!"

Father grabs my shoulder, shaking me roughly. I feel like my bones are about to crack, and it's all I can do to keep from crying out. "A Malfoy is never sorry! A Malfoy is always right—always the best. You are no son of mine!" He yells, pulling me from my seat and slapping my cheek with the back of his hand. His heavy ring digs into the flesh only a few centimeters from my right eye. I turn my face away, breathing hard as he shoves me back against his bookshelf.

"Lucius! Please, that's enough." My mother rises to her feet, reaching out as if to restrain her husband from across the room.

"There is no such thing as 'enough', woman!" He snarls, his long hair falling across his eyes as he towers above me. "Never enough money, never enough power, never enough drink. And certainly never enough punishment."

He stoops to gaze into my eyes, his breath smelling of firewhisky and his pale face flushed in rage. Suddenly, he straightens, striding across the room and seizing a leather belt from a hook on the wall. I groan, unable to restrain my fear and anguish. I know this strap well, and the very sight of it makes me feel pain. "Take off your cloak, boy." I hasten to obey, fumbling at the silver catch until the dark fabric tumbles from my shoulders and to the ground. "What are you wearing?"

My head almost spins with fear. Why today, of all days, did I choose not to wear my typical suit and slacks? "A- a tee shirt and jeans, s-sir."

"Your punishment will be increased for your slovenly habits. No Malfoy will dress like a common Muggle. Hold out your hand." Father's eyes are like ice as he strides towards me. My mother utters a low moan, sinking back to her seat on the couch. I extend my hand, turning my face away so that I won't have to watch the red welts appear on the pale skin with every stroke from my father's belt.

Fourteen times the lashes fall, but by the eighth my hand is bloodied. I blink back a tear of pain, resolving to remain strong. Malfoys do not cry—and I must make my father proud.

"Now turn yourself around." My father's voice is so cold that I can practically hear the icy edge in it. I turn without speaking, resting my forehead against the wood shelves and leather bindings of the bookcase. The scent of books flood my senses with every breath I take. I groan in pain as Father cracks the strap across the thin fabric covering my back.

"Lucius! Stop!" Mother screams as Father brings the strap back down four sharp times in succession. I squeeze my eyes closed, moaning in agony.

"Sit back down, Narcissa. Draco, for three years I've had to read your pathetic grades—for three years you have not failed to disappoint me. Now will you, or will you not be able to make a change next year?"

"I will! I promise!" My voice cracks as I answer immediately. The belt falls on me once again, and I feel tears leaking from my eyes. I bury my face in my arms, sobbing quietly as my father finishes the fourteen lashes that I seem to have earned.

"Stop crying boy, or I will be forced to whip you into shape once more!" My father turns from me to hang the slightly bloody leather belt back on its hook. My back feels wet and sticky as I stumble back from the bookcase. I wipe the tears from my cheeks quickly, sniffing a bit as I face my mother. It takes a few moments to realize that tears are running from her blue eyes as well.

She takes a deep breath and stands. "Lucius Malfoy, that was unacceptable. I've put up with you beating your own son senseless since he was ten years old—but this is it. You are forcing him to become a man when he is yet a child, and he did nothing to deserve that many lashes."

In that moment, my respect for my mother grows tenfold. I've always loved her—but now I admire her. I admire her for her sheer guts to stand up to the monster that she has married.

My father faces her slowly, beckoning her forward. She straightens her shoulders, stepping to stand before him. Her long blond hair ripples behind her as she stares at him. With a hawk-like movement, my father's hands are around her throat.

"Stop! Dad! Let her go!" I scream, stumbling forward—as if any of my efforts would do any good. Mother squirms, scratching at Father's arms as he shoves her backwards. She falls against his desk, her sleek hair now all over her ashen face as she gropes behind her. Her fingers close around a book, and she lifts it as if to strike my father. He easily rips it from her grasp, slapping her hard across her face. She cries out, a whimper that almost breaks my heart. "Stop it!" I yell again.

My father doesn't ever look at me as he raises his hand. "Petrificus totalus." He is to powerful—able to freeze my entire body without even using a wand.

I fall forward, face planting on the floor and feeling my nose shatter as I hit the hard wood. Blood bubbles out around me, and I can hear my mother weeping and the sharp slap of my father's belt as I lay. I'm unable to see what's happening… but that's probably a good thing.

Loud footsteps pass by, and the study door is opened and then slammed shut as my father exits. I whimper, tasting my blood as I struggle against the curse.

"Draco?" My mother's soft hands run over my shoulders as she whispers the counter-curse, releasing me. "Are you all right? Oh, sweetheart… I'm here now." I blink rather groggily into her bruised face as she lifts me onto her lap. "Episkey!" She waves her hand over my face and back, and I feel my skin burn with heat and then shiver with cold as my wounds are healed.

I touch my nose gingerly, wiping the blood away. I'm relieved to find that it has been reset. "I'm fine. Are you all right, mother? I'm sorry… I'm sorry I couldn't stop him!"

"Shh." She whispers soothingly, helping me to my feet. "You did fine. Let's go to your room, alright, sweetie? We can wait until your father calms down."

* * *

I open the bathroom door, starting in surprise to see that my mother is still waiting patiently in the armchair beside my bed. "Oh… I'm sorry mother! I wouldn't have taken so long if I had known that you would be waiting." I pull my shirt over my head and shake the water from my shower from my hair.

"It's fine, dear. You needed to get washed up. Draco, come here. I have something very important to tell you, and I want you to be perfectly honest to me about how it makes you feel." I frown in concern, kneeling at her feet and taking her hands. "I'm going to leave your father. I want to take you with me—and I want to move to a Muggle neighborhood." She says calmly. My mouth falls open.

"M-Mother? I- I…" I don't know what to say. I want her to be safe, and I desire to be free of my father… but that would mean leaving the only life that I've ever known! And a Muggle town? It's almost unfathomable. "Yes. Yes, I want to come with you. I'm surprised—but I want to leave." I say finally, turning my eyes upon her.

Her face splits into a wide smile, and she bows her head in relief. "Good boy. Now you need to listen to me very carefully, Draco. I'm going to visit my sister Andromeda today—she'll know how to help us. I'll come back for you tomorrow morning to take you with me. It'll be very early, and I'll need you to be up and packed. We'll go through your porch door—I don't want to face your father. I'm going to write a letter to him as soon as we're off, but until then I want you to stay in your room. I'm putting a locking charm on, and no matter how hungry or bored you get, you need to promise me that you won't leave or let anyone in till I come for you in the morning. Can you promise me that?"

I nod quickly and solemnly, feeling dangerous and brave. She rises, pressing her lips against my forehead before stepping to the curtained door that leads from my room to my small balcony. I wave farewell, smiling with a spark of new hope. "I'll see you tomorrow, mum. I love you."


	2. The White Bikini

2\. The White Bikini

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 _A/N: I don't own Harry Potter in any way, and am earning no money from this fic. I also fully admit that this story is extremely OOC. The views presented throughout are not necessarily the views held by the author, and just because I may paint a certain character in a negative light does not mean that I have any sort of grudge against that particular character._

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"Draco…" A soft hand shakes my shoulder, jolting me from sleep. "Draco, honey, it's time to wake up now."

I open my eyes, blinking in the sudden light. My mother is leaning to face me from the front seat of my aunt's car, her eyes sparkling in a wide smile. "Morning mum." I grin, straightening myself out and peering out the window. We're driving through the oddest place that I have ever seen—large houses (though nothing but specks compared to Malfoy Manor) are lined along neat streets. Everything is either whitewashed and clean or a lush brilliant green.

"So what do you think about it, Draco?" My aunt winks at me in the rear view mirror as I gape at my new neighborhood. "You're fortunate that your mother and I found a place so quickly—especially in this nicer part of London."

I clear my throat and run my fingers through my hair. "I- I like it, I suppose. It's so… _strange,_ Auntie Andromeda!"

She laughs lightly. "Yes, I suppose it must be for you. My gosh! I just haven't seen you in years. You were just a little thing then—I could have held you in one hand. You're turning out to be a rather handsome young man."

I blush, covering my laugh with a cough and turning to look back out of the window.

"We're almost there." Aunt Andromeda turns to my mother and flashes her a comforting smile. It must have been hours of driving, considering that I woke at two thirty and the tiny clock on the car's dashboard reads quarter past nine.

Mother sighs, rubbing her eyes wearily. "Oh good. Thank you so much for this Anny. It's such a relief just to know that we're out of harm's way. You truly are the kindest to help me out with everything, considering that we—I haven't-"

My aunt silences her with a comforting pat on the shoulder. "It's all right, Cissy. Blood runs thicker than water, you know. And—oh! This is it." The car slows and begins to make a funny clicking noise as it pulls into a wide driveway, paved with pale concrete. The lawns in front of the house are thick and soft looking, and the building itself is white and comfortable.

"Whoa… it's so- so different!" I fumble at the door of the car as we lurch to a stop, finally figuring out how to work the strange lever. I tumble out into the warm sun, shading my eyes and gazing in amazement at my new home. The houses next to ours are very similar, and I'm rather curious about how these Muggles can find their homes without getting lost.

"Do you like it, Draco?" Mother wraps her arms around my shoulders, smiling down at me. I nod mutely, feeling a bit anxious. "Well come on then, let's get your stuff inside! Andromeda was such a help finding this place—do you know that it came with furniture?"

My aunt laughs, opening the hidden compartment at the back of her car and exposing my large suitcase. "For quite the pretty penny too, Cissy. You don't even want to know how much the amount that you paid equates to in the Muggle world. I'm just glad that the Gringots goblins were able to make the currency exchange. Here- Draco, the door should be open, you can take your luggage right on in and pick out your room, if you'd like!"

I nod, hefting my trunk and dragging it along the paved path to the front door. It opens easily as my aunt said it should, and I peer inside. The room is large and light, with lots of windows and two white couches. A bit bare, but pretty. There is a huge white kitchen with a kind of tiny bar at the center. I drop my bag at the foot of the bar to go explore. Knowing women, Aunt Andromeda and Mother probably won't be in for quite a while. There is a glass door leading from the kitchen to the backyard, and I pull it open hastily. The yard isn't nearly as large as our old one at Malfoy Manor, but I like it much better. There is a lawn, and a little patio, and even an odd hole in the ground full of water. Sort of like a paved lake! The land is enclosed by a wooden fence, but it's short enough for me to look over it with ease. I can see that both of our next door neighbors have the same miniature lakes. At the house on the right, a girl in a white bikini whose face I can't see is bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, balancing on a bendy board over the water. Her skin is dark and her hair is long, wet, and brown. With a graceful arch, she flips from the board and dives into the clear pool with a splash.

There are a few trees in the yard, and one of them has a wooden swing hanging from it. I walk over to it slowly, shooting a quick glance over at my neighbor's yards to make sure that no one is looking. I'm fourteen after all—way too old to play on a swing! The girl in the white bikini is standing on her patio with her back to me, talking to someone in her house through an open window. I doubt that she'll see me, so I clamber on to the wooden seat.

I had a swing once. Mother hung it from the tree outside my window when I was seven. I would pull it backwards into my room, then stand on my window sill and swing out over the lawn like a bird. It was amazing… until Father got drunk one day and burned it down.

I sway lightly back and forth, staring at my new home. I'm not sure if I like it… but I trust that it's a place where I won't have to worry about getting another bruise or welt for the rest of my childhood. Through the glass door, I can faintly see my mother and aunt looking around. They seem deep in conversation, and don't notice me.

I wonder if I'm a Malfoy any more… or if Mother will chose to adopt her maiden name: Black. Perhaps father was right after all—perhaps I'm not really a member of his proud family. Maybe I'm just… Draco. What if I don't belong anywhere? I freeze, shaking my head slightly. I can't afford to let my thoughts get out of control like this. I _do_ belong somewhere. I have a home at Hogwarts and here with my favorite person in the entire world: my mum. I hop from the swing and hurry back across the lawn to the house.

"What do you think, Draco?" My mother tucks a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear and beams at me.

"It's really nice. Thanks, mother." She laughs in relief and pulls me into a hug, ruffling my hair. "Mum! I'm too old for that!" I protest, trying to free myself from her warm embrace.

"You're not too old for anything, Draco." She looks searchingly into my eyes, a crease of worry appearing on her forehead. "I know that your entire life, you've been pushed to keep people away, to silence your emotions, and to grow up before you were ready. Now I'm telling you to be yourself! If you feel like you want to do the things that other boys your age do- then do them! As soon as you wake up tomorrow morning, I think that you should go on a walk down the street. See if you can meet any other kids, hm?" She ruffles my hair one last time before releasing me.

"Well… I guess I could do that." I mumble with disinterest as she begins opening up random kitchen cupboards and peering inside.

Aunt Andromeda laughs from her seat on one of the stiff white couches, pulling herself to her feet. "Look, I've got to get back to Ted. I might stop by again one of these days, Cissy. Will you come give your Aunt a hug, Draco?" She holds out her arms, and I shrug in compliance.

"Just this once, auntie." I embrace her, breathing in the comforting smell of her perfume. "Thank you for driving us!" I hurry over to the tiny bar to get my suitcase to a room. It seems like a good idea to let my mum and her sister have a private goodbye. For years I didn't even know that I had an aunt besides Bella, who is locked up in Azkaban. I guess that Mother must have had a falling out of some sorts with Andromeda—perhaps I'll ask her about it someday.

I drag my trunk down a brightly lit hall, opening to first door that I come to. It's a bathroom, so I move on. The third door on the left discloses a small room, painted grey and blue. There is a twin-sized bed and a picture window looking out onto the street with a window-seat. I drop my bag to the floor and hurry to the empty dresser, opening its drawers to get unpacked. This room is about a quarter of the size of my old one in Malfoy Manor, and even my old four-poster bed dwarfs my new one—but I don't care.

This is all that I need—all that I ever wanted. A _home_ not a _house._ I guess that homes are shelters that you share with the people you love—and I love my mother more than anything, so I have enough to be happy. I fold my slightly jumbled clothes neatly and tuck them away in the dresser, then set my few books on the shelf over my bed. After several minutes of straining I manage to free my Nimbus 2001 from its resting place in the large leather trunk. I prop it in one corner of my room with an air of finality. I packed light, choosing to leave nearly everything I own back at the Manor, so fortunately this job is taken a lot less time than one might have expected. All that's left are my myriad of school supplies—I arrange them beneath my bed and safely out of sight. They won't be needed till the start of term in two months.

At the very bottom of my suitcase is a single framed photograph, so faded that the three feebly moving figures are almost unrecognizable beneath the cracked glass. I don't know why I brought it along… but it was the first thing that I seized when I went to pack my bags this morning. It's a picture of my mother and father… and me, the day I was born. They look young and happy—though more than a bit tired. I swallow, choking back the uncomfortable lump that has risen in my throat as I stare at the photo. I thrust it roughly onto the top of my dresser, making sure to turn it so that its face is to the wall.

I rise and leave the room, leaving my empty trunk open on the floor.

* * *

"Mother?" I peer into the kitchen, hoping for her familiar form. "Are you in here?"

No reply. My shoulders slump as I trudge into the room, eyes lighting on a white slip of parchment pinned to the counter-top.

"Draco—

There're muffins in the oven. Make sure to eat enough, then go make some friends. I've gone out on the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley. I might be a while—

Love, Mum."

I sigh, dropping the note into the waste bin and tugging the oven door open. A rack of my mom's blueberry muffins sits in the warm cavern. I'm not very hungry, but I snatch one up anyway, taking it back to my room as I go to get dressed. I didn't sleep very well last night… but I suppose that the nightmares I had could be expected as that was my first sleep in this strange new world.

I pull on a black muscle shirt and skinny jeans, crumble half my muffin into mush and then throw out the rest, and brush my hair and teeth. I'm not sure how I feel about trying to meet these Muggle children. They might be nice… but I've always heard that Muggles are rather stupid.

With a slightly trembling hand, I open the front door and step out into the bright morning sun. A group of Muggles are playing on the quiet road-side, but they look hardly older than eight years old, so I ignore them. After a moment of consideration, I decide to try the house next door—maybe the girl in the white bikini will be home.

I bite my lip and hurry almost guiltily up their grey paved driveway and along their immaculate garden path to their front door. I raise my hand, and then drop it instantly. Three deep breaths later, I finally work up the nerve to knock. I bring my fist down on a heavy thump against the cream-colored door, then jump back as if I've been hexed. I'm just contemplating making a run for safety when the door swings open and I'm greeted by a smiling face.

"Hello, dear." A short, middle-aged woman with mousy hair and hazel eyes peers at me as if she's trying to remember whether or not she recognizes me. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

I swallow, unsure if I'd rather that the girl was the one greeting me instead of this lady. "Uh—hello. I just moved in next door… and my mother wanted me to meet the neighbors."

"Oh! My daughter's probably about your age—why don't you come in? She's on a bike ride, but she'll be back any moment now." She beckons me forward, and I step into the cool and airy hallway. "You can have a seat in the drawing room. I'll get you some cookies!"

I bow my head in gratitude and follow her into a cozy little room with plump couches and sunflower wallpaper. "Thank you, Mrs.—Mrs.?" my voice trails off and I look at her questioningly.

"Please, call me Myranda." She calls over her shoulder as she hurries from the room.

I draw my legs up slightly, poised and tense in this new environment. I hear a dull thumping noise outside, and the door being opened. "Mum? I'm back!" Light footsteps clatter towards me, and in a moment I find myself staring at the girl.

My gaze travels slowly from the bottom up—white and pink trainers, smooth deeply tanned legs, tight white shorts, white tank top, a mass of curling dark brown hair, and a pretty face with big brown eyes and large front teeth.

"Oh! Hey, I'm Hermi—ooh. _Malfoy_?" Her mouth falls open as she stares at me in utter disbelief.

I shake my head in denial, mouthing my thoughts of confusion as our eyes lock. Finally, I'm able to choke something out. "Granger?"

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 _A/N: Please review! It would mean a lot to me, and to be honest, your feedback is what keeps me going. I'll take every suggestion and criticism to heart—I promise!_


	3. The Lesson

3\. The Lesson

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 _A/N: I don't own nothin'. Wait..._

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"Wha—how the bloody—what are you _doing_ here?" she tangles her fingers in her long curls, staring at me in disgust and anguish. "Get _out_."

"I could say the same, Granger!" I snap, leaping to my feet to tower over her. It's a good thing that she's short and I'm tall—I'd feel very weak, otherwise.

"I _live_ here! Now are you deaf? Get out of my house, Malfoy!" Her dark eyes are practically burning with fury as she rises to her tiptoes, poking me hard in the chest with every slow word.

"Is something wrong?" Myranda—who, I suppose, is really Mrs. Granger—hurries into the room with a plate of cookies balanced in one hand. "Do you two already know each other?" Her brow creases in worry at the sight of our flushed faces.

In a perfectly synchronized chorus, I say "Yes!" at the same moment Granger yells, "No!"

Mrs. Granger raises her eyebrows, setting the plate of cookies down on the low coffee-table and turning to face us slowly. "Hermione, what's going on?"

"Malfoy goes to school with me. What is he doing here?" she folds her slender arms, looking sullen.

"Well, he knocked on the door and— what exactly is going on? Do you mean _Hogwarts_? He's a—he's a-"

"Yeah, I'm a wizard." I say shortly. "For your information, Granger, I've moved in next door."

"You're my next door neighbor? And I thought my life couldn't get any worse." She laughs bitterly, slipping off her sneakers and plopping down on the couch. "But _why_? What are you, of all people, doing in a neighborhood like this, Malfoy?"

"My mum left my dad." I turn from her, feeling humiliated and exposed. My cheeks are burning as I continue, not wanted to see her expression as she registers my words. "So my aunt found us a house here. And I'm not _Malfoy_ anymore. You can call me by my mother's maiden name, Black, or simply by my Christian name, Draco." I keep my tone as cold and imposing as I can, knowing that my words are stiff and rather unfriendly.

"Well fine then. Sorry to hear about your parents." She mumbles. I force myself to look up, and to my surprise she does look genuinely regretful. "I can't just call you 'Black'—it sounds so… so _forced_. 'Draco' it is then. Why did you come to my house, though?"

I shrug, trying to look nonchalant. "I saw you swimming last night, but I didn't recognize you. My mother told me to go meet some of the Muggles, and I simply came to your house first."

Granger runs her fingers through her tangle of hair yet again, looking fretful. "The thing is… you're a danger to the Wizarding world! You are entirely clueless about how things work here—and it would be just like you to go blabbering about our life to the Muggles."

I huff indignantly, folding my arms and trying to make sure she relies exactly how wounded I am. "Excuse me, but I'm hardly clueless about anything! And I know how to keep my mouth closes, thank you very much."

She raises her eyebrows, evaluating me with cold scrutiny. I can feel the heat in my cheeks increase with every second that her gaze travels over me. As much as I hate to admit it, she looks almost beautiful in her anger. "Sure you are. What's the white board next to the swimming pool, then?"

I bite my lip, trying to recall. Well, 'recall' isn't exactly the right word, as I have absolutely no idea. More like, 'make something plausible up on the fly'. I answer her in my intelligent tone, fingers crossed that I'll be at least close. "A pool board."

Granger snorts with laughter, crinkling her nose charismatically. "You don't say? Close, but not quite close enough. It's a _diving_ board. Listen, I think that I might have to spend some time with you over the summer after all. I'm going to do what I do best: instruct. I'll have you turned into a proper Muggle by the time this month is out, because so help me God, if you make a mistake and all of London realizes that there are witches and wizards living in the city's midst, I will feel personally responsible."

"I don't want to be a Muggle!" I protest, slightly confused by her words.

She jumps up from the couch, her long curls swinging behind her as she seizes my hand. "No, silly! I'm just going to help—oh. Draco, are you alright?"

My gaze follows hers to my pale hand, upon which the welts and slashes from my recent whipping still shine. I jerk my fingers from hers quickly, stuffing my hands into my pocket. "Yeah. I'm super. Tell me more?"

"No… I want to know about those scars on your hand! Did someone beat you up?" Her brow crinkles in concern, and Mrs. Granger, who has been standing quietly in the corner all this while with a rather amused look, steps forward.

"Hermione, don't pressure the boy." She rubs Granger's shoulder gently, before turning to me. "Listen, if there's anything that you want to talk with us about, you're always welcome. I'd like to meet your mother sometime. Do you think that she'd be alright with that?"

I shrug, taking a small step back. "Thanks. My mother would probably like that a lot. She's not around at the moment, but I'll let her know when she gets back from Diagon Alley."

Granger's face splits into a wide, somewhat toothy grin. "Diagon Alley? Cool! Mum and Dad have wanted to go back there ever since second year! Maybe I'll have to take them sometime." She looks up into her mother's hazel eyes with a smile, and the older woman nods. "Okay then, Draco. First things first—your clothes. You're actually dressed surprisingly well for a pureblood such as yourself. Where did you get that shirt?" she tilts her head curiously, a few brown locks tumbling across her lightly freckled forehead.

"My mother purchased a few Muggle clothes for me once. It's a bit too small… but it beats my suits, so I like to wear it. Granger, are you sure that this is a good idea? I mean, what about your pals, Potter and Weasley? Won't they be mad if they find out that you've been spending time with me?" The last thing that I want is the stuck up boys of the "Golden Trio" coming after me for talking to their girl. I prefer to avoid trouble… or at least, I like to stir it up as long as I won't come into actual harm.

"Pff. They don't rule my life. Besides, they won't _have_ to know. And anyway, it's not like you and I are going to become friends—I'm just doing my duty to the wizarding world by teaching you a valuable lesson. Now, call me Hermione. If I have to call you by your terrible first name, you might as well call me by mine." She says bossily. This girl sure knows how to make me look like a fool… there's no denying it.

Mrs. Granger chuckles softly and steps from the room, gesturing quickly to the platter of cookies behind her. "There are snacks if you want them, you two. Have fun—I have some X-rays to file. Hermione—dad's coming home from the office a little early today, so make sure that if you leave you get home again by two. Draco, if you want to stay for dinner you're welcome—your mother is too! We eat at five." She disappears from the room, leaving us in silence.

Hermione clears her throat loudly and gives me a pointed look. "I think that I should show you my favorite place to hang out. If you're going to be living here, you might as well know about the cool little shops down the road. Come on, you can ride my mum's bike, I think that you'll fit." She grabs a cookie and shoulders past me to get to the front door. I scurry after her, a knot of worry forming in my stomach. Hermione sits down on her front step next to her bike and begins tying up the laces of her trainers.

"Grang—Hermione, I can't ride a bike!" I confess, shaking my head slightly at her enthusiasm. Never in my life have a met a girl like her. From the first day that I ever laid eyes on her she's captured my attention, amazing me with her clever wit and blunt honesty. I know that I shouldn't have called her mud-blood… but perhaps now I'll have a bit of an opportunity to redeem myself. I feel like a new person now, free of every expectation that has been placed on me since I could walk and talk.

"Seriously? This is going to be harder than I though. Okay… well, I'll teach you then. Stay here, I'll be right back." She dusts off her hands and marches around the corner of her house—probably into her back yard. She returns in several minutes, wheeling a silver bike along beside her. "How can you not know how to ride?"

"Most wizarding families don't have bikes. I only recognize it because I saw a half-blood with one in Diagon Ally. I- I'm not sure if I feel comfortable…"

"Oh, shut up and get on. I'll hold it still for you." She laughs, holding the vehicle out with an expectant look.

I sigh in resignation, my shoulders slumping. "Fine. But if I get all bruised up I'll make sure that you pay!" I clamber onto the odd seat, feeling uneasy and wobbly. Hermione runs her hands over my sides, securing a hold on my waist and keeping me still. "Wh- what are you doing?" My voice cracks uncomfortably as I tense under her touch. I had never thought of Granger's hands making me feel good… but I can't contain the sudden racing in my heart or the warmth in my stomach.

"I'm holding you up." She laughs as if I'm the most brainless boy in the entire world. "Now put your feet on the pedals and pump." I groan, but obey.

"This is stupid. You know that right?" I whisper, feeling like a complete idiot as she guides me along the roadside.

"No it's not! Riding a bike is a valuable skill that everyone should learn."

I personally don't think that this is a skill worth my utter humiliation, but I bite my tongue and try to block out the tickling of her hands on my torso as I wobble like that oaf Hagrid when he gets drunk. "Whatever you say, Hermione."

* * *

"There." Hermione brushes off her shorts with a victorious look. "You can officially ride quite a ways without falling over. We can go now, I think—but we've only got an hour. Gosh, I didn't realize that it would take so long for you to learn. Aren't you supposed to be really smart or something?"

I know that she's only teasing, but I can feel my heart drop at her words. I'm instantly reminded of my father, yelling in his drunken rage that I'm a disappointment—that I'll never be smart, or good enough, to be a Malfoy.

"Hey. Earth to Draco…" She waves her slender brown hand in front of my eyes, and I snap to attention with a jolt.

"Oh. Sorry." I steady myself on Mrs. Granger's bike, while Hermione laughs. "I guess I just zoned out."

"Yeah, I could tell." She smirks, kicking off on her bike and riding in a perfect circle around me. "Come on! Follow me and be careful." She leads me down a series of wide, twisting roads lined with identical white houses. I'm thankful she's here to guide me—I'd be hopelessly lost otherwise. "So. Draco, tell me, are you really the nasty person that I've known for three years?" She looks over her shoulder at me, but I'm to busy trying not to fall over and die to answer for several minutes.

"Well… I suppose that I am, in a sense. Do I want to be like that? No. But I can't help the way that I've been conditioned." I say simply.

"So you're saying that your home life was the cause of your attitude?" I can't see her face, but I can almost sense the frown in her sweet voice.

"I don't blame it… and I'm not saying that I wouldn't be the way that I am had I been raised differently, but I do think that I'm going to make a change. That's all." I try to explain, feeling like I've fallen chronically short of illustrating my true feelings. But then again… I'm not sure if I want Hermione to know that every time her skin brushes mine my heart gives an almighty leap, or that the sight of her eyes alone makes me feel warm all over.

"Interesting." She says slowly, her tone neutral. "Turn here." We continue along a busy lane for a few moments, before Hermione screeches to a halt. I promptly tumble from my bike and hit the concrete with bone-breaking force.

I moan, picking myself up and pulling down my shirt, which unfortunately flew up in my fall, exposing my lower back. "Ouch." I mutter, wresting the bike back into an upright position.

"Draco." Hermione's voice is so soft that I almost don't pick it up.

"What?" I snap, turning on her to find that she's staring at me with fear in her dark eyes.

"You have cuts and bruises all over your-" She begins. I flush instantly, cursing myself for being so careless. I haven't told a soul about my father's punishments, and I intend to keep things that way. I'm not the kind to go looking for sympathy—unless it's for a false reason. I know that I might be able to worm benefits out of my scars, but that would also destroy my sense of pride.

"It's nothing. I fell down the other day." I turn from her, gazing up at the small brick storefronts along the street.

"But—Draco, is there any particular reason your mother left your dad?" she touches me shoulder, sending shivers over my entire body.

I shake her off stoically. "No. Of course not. Now what is it you wanted to show me?"

She breathes in sharply, withdrawing her soft fingers. "Oh. Of course—right. See that shop right in there? It's called a 'soda fountain'—make sure to remember that! They sell all kinds of great things…. Here, let's go in, shall we?"

I nod rather tensely, realizing that her voice is still soft and rather pitying. "Sounds nice." My tone is cold, I know, but I don't want to get to close with this girl after all. I'm afraid that I've been forgetting myself.


	4. The Change

4\. The Change

* * *

 _A/N: All recognizable characters and locations belong to JK Rowling: the goddess of writing and my personal hero/role-model! And since I'm obviously not her, I don't own Harry Potter._

* * *

I hold the door to the shop open for Hermione, enjoying the tinkle of the entrance bell. She saunters inside, beckoning me to follow. The interior is welcoming and cool, with white and black tiled floors and lots of funny bench seats and grey topped tables. There is a long counter with bar stools towards the back, and a tall man with dark hair and an odd paper cap stands behind it.

I instinctively draw the slightest bit closer to Hermione, feeling exposed in this shop. I suppose that it's similar to the ice cream parlor in Diagon Alley… but very different at the same time.

"Hi, Frank!" Hermione waves to the dark haired young man with a cheerful smile, and he returns the gesture.

"Hullo, 'Mione! Back from school already, are you? Where is it you go again? Boarding school in Scotland, wasn't it?"

Hermione drags me towards the counter, pulling me onto one of the high stools with a rather dangerous looking partial scowl. "Yeah, that's it." She drums her fingers on the counter and Frank turns to arrange a handful of napkins in a basket. "Now, Draco, see that board up there?" Hermione whispers, gesturing slightly towards a chalkboard mounted on the wall—clearly a sort of menu. "Well, pick whatever you like. There are sodas and parfaits, and all sorts of things like that."

I frown at the board. Some of the things I recognize, like milkshakes, but others are completely foreign. "What's a root beer float?" I hiss, trying to remain inconspicuous in case Frank is attempting to listen in.

"Soda and ice cream. It's really good." She replies, digging a wad of paper notes from her pocket. "Muggle money." She clarifies in an undertone, setting the papers on the counter and turning to face me.

"Oh." I glance back towards the menu, feeling a bit lost.

"So, how're your mum and dad them, 'Mione?" Frank leans amiably against the counter top, winking at her.

I scowl, suddenly taking note of how very good looking he is. He's probably around seventeen… and I have a strong feeling that he has most certainly noticed that Hermione is quite pretty. The way that she smiles at him fills me with a bitter tingle, and I find myself taking a strong disliking to the boy.

"Oh, you know, they're good. Dad's a bit busy with work, but mum's had a few days off, so she and I have been spending a lot of time together. It's been great! Hey, I'd like a cream soda. You'd better order now, Draco." She shoves the money towards him, and he turns to look at me expectantly.

"Oh! Uh—I'll have a strawberry milkshake." I falter, suddenly realizing that I don't have any Muggle money. "I'll pay you back when I get home." I mutter to Hermione in an undertone, and she nods in acceptance.

"Coming right up!" Frank laughs, turning to mix the ingredients together while we watch. "So, uh, you two dating or something, 'Mione?" He asks casually without turning to face us.

"No!" Hermione squeaks, automatically scooting to the next stool like greased lightning. I guess she can't even stand the act of sitting next to me—but then again, I probably deserve it. "I'm Draco's tutor. He's got terrible grades so I help him with schoolwork over the summer. He's already been held back three years, and I just feel bad, since he hasn't even been able to get into secondary school."

My mouth falls open in outrage. How dare she? How. Freaking. Dare. She. I am Draco Malfoy—Draco Black… whatever. I'm not to be made a fool of in front of others! I start beating her over the head with a wad of napkins, my playful anger melting into laughter as she tries to fight me off. We straighten up, snickering slightly as Frank sets our drinks on the counter before us with a warry look. Hermione clears her throat and puts on her most professional face.

"Thank you, Frank. Take the tip."

He leans against the counter, running his fingers through his dark hair and showing off his perfect teeth in a blindingly white grin. "Hey, 'Mione, we've known each other for a while now, and I was just thinking that it might be cool to get even more acquainted. There's a new movie coming out Saturday. Would you like to go with me?"

She flushes, looking more than a little surprised. With a nervous gesture, she begins winding one of her long, curly, locks around her dark finger. "Well, gee. I'm going to have to turn you down, Frank. Sorry, but I have plans."

I grin, feeling strangely elated that she doesn't harbor any feelings for him, despite his good looks. "Yeah. She's going to be helping me with my school work. You know, the ABC's." I say smugly, and Hermione shoots me an exasperated look.

Frank frowns, but nods in acceptance. "Sure. Have a great weekend then! I guess I'll see you around."

"Yeah. You too." Hermione hops from the stool, snatching her drink up and motioning for me to follow. We exit the shop, blinking slightly in the sudden golden light of the summer afternoon.

I take a sip of the milkshake, finding that it doesn't taste nearly as good as the one in Florence Fortescue's. It's alright, however, and I thank Hermione for the experience.

She nods, looking preoccupied as she attempts to juggle holding her drink steady and refolding her slightly crumpled paper money. She finally wads the bills up and sticks them in her shorts pocket with a grunt of dismissal. "I always try to arrange them by worth… but it's a little tricky with my hands full."

I bite my lip, realizing that I should have been more helpful. "Sorry. Would you like me to hold your drink for you?"

"Draco! You've really changed, haven't you?" She stares at me in wide-eyed wonder, her tone almost conveying reverence.

"No! I'm the same as I always have been!" I protest, waving her off. "I just figured that it wasn't very polite to leave you to struggle on alone—that's all!"

The brown-eyed girl folds her arms with a smirk. "Change isn't all bad, you know. I'd rather think that you'd want to dispose of your old reputation."

"My reputation is what gets me the things that I want!" I explain. "If everyone thought that I was some sort of goody-two-shoes, then I'd never go anywhere with my life. You really should learn some of the values of Slytherin house, Hermione."

"Maybe I will, some day." She laughs, tossing her hair and finishing her drink with a sigh. She dumps the empty cup in the nearest waste can and we retrieve our bikes from the stand where we left them. "So, what did you think of the place?"

I shrug, unwilling to tell her that I wasn't particularly impressed with anything about her so-called "soda fountain". "It was nice. Thanks for taking me."

"You're welcome." She looks over her shoulder at me, her curls flying in a brown cloud behind her as we race along the wide lane towards home. "So, do you think that you'll stay for supper tonight?"

I open my mouth, about to accept, but quickly silence myself. I can't spend too much time with her, and the way that she makes me feel like I'm under a Cheering-charm cannot be healthy. "I'm going to pass. Mum and I need to get situated at our house."

She nods, screeching to a stop at the foot of her driveway. I dismount from my own ride, looking at her a bit hesitantly. "I can take your bike back up. See you around, then?"

I nod, passing the bicycle to her and turning back towards my yard. "Yeah. I guess so."

* * *

"Draco? Are you in here?" My mother's soft voice accompanies her gentle rap on the door to the bathroom.

"Yeah." I grunt, setting down my razor to open the door. "What's up, mom?"

"Dinner's ready. What are you doing? I haven't seen you since you got back. Are you all right?" Her brow creases in worry as she peers into the bathroom.

"I'm great—just shaving. I was out with the neighbor, that's all… so I'm sort of tired." I smile reassuringly, trying to ignore the dull aching in my heart that has been bothering me ever since Hermione separated a few hours ago. "I'll be done in a moment." I make a motion to close the door, but her slender white hand stops me.

"I'm worried about you Draco. I shouldn't have left this morning—you did have lunch, didn't you?"

"Yeah. I ate loads." I lie, turning to hide my slightly flushed face from her.

"Well, finish up and then come out. I've made your favorite, and I was hoping that maybe we could spend the evening together doing—oh, I don't know—the things that we've never gotten to do before." She flashes me a worried smile, her blue eyes seeming to pierce my very soul.

"Fine. I'll wrap it up." I slam the door in her face, feeling slightly bad for my mistreatment of her, but just too ornery to worry about it. I rinse my razor in the sink, not even bothering to finish my shave. I don't really need it—it just makes me feel powerful and grown up to press the cold metal against my throat. I gaze at my reflection in the mirror… and my father's face stares back at me. I blink, and I'm looking into my own glum expression again. So pale, so cold.

I don't know who I am anymore. First, I was a Malfoy—powerful and frigid, but I always got whatever I wanted. I could play any person… except for my own family. I suppose that I was happy, but it wasn't the same kind of happiness that I saw in Hermione Granger's big dark eyes today. While I was at Hogwarts, I felt safe but hated. While at home, I could rest in my mother's affection but always knew that punishment was never far away. But then again, I usually deserved my father's wrath—so things never seemed unjust.

Now, I feel even more threatened than before. This entire world is so different that I'm frightened for one of the first times in my life. Even during my father's drunken rages I could block out the most primeval instincts of terror.

Seeing Hermione, however, made me unrealistically happy. I was filled with a sense of joy and freedom that I shouldn't have found in her company. I don't even understand the emotions coursing through my body. I can't comprehend why I'm suddenly depressed and hollow, or why my loving mother is suddenly getting on my nerves. I slam my fists on the white countertop and storm from the bathroom.

"Good! You look nice, sweetie. I made salmon!" My mother beams at me, holding her hands out for a hug. I shoulder past her, blocking out the mental image of her hurt expression. "Well, sit down then." She says slowly, sliding onto one of the bar stools and picking up her fork. I sigh and sit next to her, poking around at the plate of fish in front of me while she looks on with a frown. "What's wrong? I thought that you loved this."

"I do. Thanks, mum." I murmur. "Can I talk to you?"

"You know that you can always talk to me!" She exclaims, leaning forward and trying to hold my hand.

I jerk away, staring back at my plate. "The thing is… There was this girl at Hogwarts that I really hated—but it turns out that she lives in the neighborhood. I saw her today… and when she touched my skin I felt really good, and I think that she's pretty. Is there something wrong with me? She's just a mudblood!"

Mother sighs, rubbing her temples slowly. "Don't use that word, Draco. I don't care how often your father told you that it was the right thing to say, I'm telling you that it isn't. As for this girl, there isn't anything wrong with you liking her. Even if you don't like her, your body is going through-"

"Not the Talk, mum. Please not the Talk!" I groan, hiding my beet-red face in my hands.

Mother rubs my shoulders, sighing. "Oh, Draco. I've failed you. I haven't been the mother that you should have had… and I'm sorry. Can you forgive me? I want to be your friend and guide, but you need to be able to accept and respect me! We can have a new life together here… are you willing to open up to change?"

"You haven't failed me!" I protest, looking up into her eyes for the first time all day. "I've just been moody—and I'm taking it out on you… which isn't right. I _want_ a fresh start! I really do—I'm just not sure how."

She makes a comforting sound which I can only describe as "motherly", and pulls me into a hug. She runs her hands over my back, and then pulls up my tee shirt with a quick moment. "Mum!" I gasp, trying to recover my back, but she's already running her fingers over my cuts and bruises.

"Draco… some of these look infected!" She pulls her wand from her pocket and begins to whisper healing charms over me. "I'm so sorry." Her voice breaks into a soft sob, and I feel her long hair and damp lips tickling my cheek. "I should have done more for you—I should have protected you, my son. But I just sat there… all those years. And now it's too late."

"Really—it's fine. I love you mum and I don't blame you for any of this." I smile reassuringly at her as she smooths my shirt back down and wipes her eyes. "Thanks for dinner—it looks really good." I take a small bite of the fish, remembering the first time that she made this for me. It was one of the first meals that she ever cooked, and it was burnt. That was almost a year ago, right after Potter robbed us of our house-elf. Mum had no idea what to do, as Dobby would always cook for us. Father told her that it was disgusting, but I had seconds, an indulgence which I almost never allow!

She beams at me, sniffing a bit. "Thanks, love. You- you like it here, don't you?" I nod, and she continues with a relieved breath. "Now, about Hermione Granger-"

"How did you know?" I squeak, feeling the heat flood into my cheeks.

"Now who's the only girl that you ever mentioned over summer vacations, who is also Muggle-born?" She teases to my absolute mortification. I didn't think that I talked about Hermione _that_ much… but then again, I might have mentioned her once or twice. Father talked about her a lot, but only to humiliate me about her consistent academic victories. "Do you think that you have feelings for her, Draco?" She looks at me closely, her eyes glinting.

I look at my food, thinking about her question. She made me feel good today… but that could simply be a temporary teenage reaction. "I don't know, mum. Maybe I'll get back to you on that?"


	5. The Theater

5\. The Theater

* * *

 _A/N: Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter in any sense! All rights belong to JK Rowling, and I am making no money from this fic!_

* * *

"Good morning, sleepy head." My mother looks up from her Muggle newspaper with a smile.

I shake my head slightly, laughing at her. "You're really weird, mum. I hope you know that."

She laughs too, sliding from the barstool to join me in the kitchen. "What? You loved my pet names when you were four!" She wraps her arms around me from behind in an awkward hug as I get a mug from the cupboard.

"Yeah, ten years ago." I mutter, flicking the switch at the base of our electric tea kettle to heat the water. "These Muggle inventions are so strange! You'll never believe what Hermione showed me the other day—it's this bowl that sits in this torture device thing. She called it a 'mixer'. That's how she makes cookies." Mum is starting to look interested, so I quickly skim over the topic by introducing another. Truth be told, I wasn't really listing to my neighbor girl's talk on the mixer—I was too busy staring at her cute face. Not that I was _staring_ , exactly. More like 'studying intently'. "So, how do you like Mr. and Mrs. Granger?"

We've lived in London for a week and two days exactly, and we've already eaten with the Grangers four times. I think that Mum and Myranda have really hit it off, though she mostly leaves the talking up to me, so I'm not entirely sure. Mrs. Granger is kind and bubbly, and her husband is as dark and tall as she is fair and petite. He's very intelligent—though I figure they must both be to be dentists. If I ever wanted to figure out what a real family should be like, I'd look at the Grangers. They're kind, loving, and never seem to fight. Hermione's one lucky girl to have a father like she does. My father probably has no idea where we are—if he did I have no doubt but that he'd come searching.

"… And it really sounds like a strange job."

I blink, realizing that mother has been talking away and I've been ignoring her the entire time! I nod vaguely. "Yeah. I totally agree."

"Do you have any plans today?" She pours herself a cup of tea with the steaming water from the kettle, leaving enough for me.

"Mmhm. Hermione's going to show me what a movie is. We're going to the theater down the road. Is that okay?" I drop a sugar cube into the drink, watching it melt with rapt attention.

"Sure. You know, I'm really glad that you've found a friend here, Draco. It makes me so proud to know that you're getting along with Hermione. Do you think that she fancies you?"

"What?" I choke on my tea, spewing the hot liquid across the kitchen. "You've got to be kidding me. Hermione? Fancy _me_? No way—she's only doing this because she says it's her duty." I drop to my knees, wiping the tea up with a rag while my mother laughs.

"Her duty?" She shakes her head slightly and exits the kitchen with a chuckle, leaving me utterly bewildered.

* * *

"Promise me you won't be scared?" Hermione's dark eyes pierce me as she looks me over.

"I promise! I'm not a wimp—I'm really very brave, you know."

She nods, eyes narrowed scathingly. "I can tell from your remarkable acts of heroism at school. What was I thinking getting tickets to a horror movie for your first film? You'll likely wet you pants or run out of the theater screaming, or something like that!" She tangles her hands in her brown curls, pacing before the theater door and effectively managing to block about a dozen people from entering.

I pull her gently to the side, trying to reassure her. "I asked what films you like to see, and you said horror. Trust me, if you can handle it then I can!"

"Are you sure? You know, there's a romance playing right now, and-"

I laugh, cutting her off. "Haha—no. I'll take the horror, thank you very much, Hermione. You know, it sounds to me like you might be the one who's scared! Are _you_ all right with this?"

She nods, covering her frown with a brave mask. "Of course! I watch movies like this all the time! Like, every day."

"Fine then, let's go in." I grab her arm, tugging her into the theater with determination. "How does this work, now?"

Hermione takes a deep breath, gesturing down a red carpeted hall. "We're in theater six—down here. I've got some popcorn in my purse, so we don't need to buy anything."

"In that little thing? How much could you squeeze in? Two kernels?" I slap her small handbag playfully, and she snorts.

"I'm a witch, remember? I have more than one trick up my sleeve. Now shut up before you get a permanent burn from my flaming awesomeness." Hermione whispers. I hold the door to the darkened room open for her, and she nods in thanks as well pass through a rather long hall.

The theater reminds me of the place where our family went to see a play when I was younger, only a bit smaller and much darker. Rows of seats stare out at a giant blank screen. Hermione leads me to the very back of the theater, promising me that these seats will have the best view. I find her hand in the dark, giving it a reassuring squeeze to slow her heavy breathing. "Are you _sure_ that you're all right?" I hiss, and she nods.

"Yes—yes, I'm fine. But I lied! I've never seen a scary film before—I just wanted to impress you." She whispers quickly.

I ignore the flame of heat rising to my cheeks. Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, wanted to impress me? "Well, it's not like it's real, or anything. I'm here—we can be scared together. I'll bet lots of the Muggles will freak out anyway, so nobody's going to mind if you scream."

Her hand tightens around mine for a fleeting, heavenly moment before she pulls away. "Thanks, Draco." People begin filtering into the theater, taking their seats as the screen suddenly lights up and sound washes over us. I wince—I hadn't been expecting this experience to be quite so _loud_. "Now, first they'll play lots and lots of previews and ads. Basically, video clips of things that they want us to buy, and sections from other movies that they want us to pay to see. It's all about the money." I grin, amused by her observations. She unzips her purse while I watch in fascination—the women in these "ads" are practically flawless!

She presses a cold can into my hand, and I realize that she's managed to fit drinks into her purse as well. "Wha- how did you?" I begin to ask, but she cuts me off with a hiss for silence.

"All in good time, my man, all in good time." She jokes, passing me a bag of popcorn. I hear the sound of her popping the seal on her soda can in the near darkness, and the noise fills me with a sense of joy.

I was fairly close with the other Slytherins back at Hogwarts. We played truth or dare in the Common Room and made jokes about the other students. I suppose that I was accepted and perhaps admired, but I was never loved. They weren't real friends, just people for me to use. They probably held similar regards for me—I know that many of them secretly despised me. Even Pansy Parkinson was never as close to me in private as she was in public. A place on Draco Malfoy's arm served her well, but only while others were watching.

Sitting here with Hermione and watching an advertisement for gummy fruit vitamins, I feel liked. She cares for me enough to ask me to spend the afternoon with her, when she could be sitting in the arms of Frank the Soda Fountain guy instead. She took the time to pack me food, and she went out of her comfort zone to try to impress me. It makes me feel valuable and that I'm worth more than social status.

"Thank you, Hermione." I murmur, catching the sound of her light laugh. Her eyes glint under the light of the screen as she turns to look at me.

"You're welcome, Draco. You know, when you moved in next door I was really upset, but I guess you're not half-bad after all." She looks back at the advertisement, gesturing slightly at a beautiful woman in a low cut dress who is talking about her pimple cream's effectiveness. "Merlin. Sometimes I really wish that I could look like that." She whispers, more to herself than to anyone else.

I frown in the dark, wondering why on earth this confident pretty girl would want to look like any old Muggle woman. "You shouldn't think that! You're great the way you are." I blurt out before I can stop my own stupid mouth. Oh, crumbs! I cannot believe that I just said that aloud.

She gives me a funny look, her face almost unreadable in the gloom. "Really?" She asks simply, looking away as if declining a response. I sigh and take a sip of my cold drink, trying to counteract the sudden warmth flooding my body. I don't have anything for Hermione—I really don't! It's just that she's so—she's so perfect. "Ooh! It's starting!" Her dark fingers tighten around the arm rest of her chair, and she takes a deep breath.

"What is this called again?" I whisper.

"The Paperboy. I only picked it 'cause the main guy has a hot nose." She squeaks. I instinctively touch the tip of my own nose, wondering if she judges men by that feature only.

"Interesting." I admit with a wry laugh. In the dark, I can feel her fingers entwine with mine as the feature begins.

* * *

"That was so… FREAKING AWESOME!" Hermione slaps her legs and does a sort of jig around me. I clutch my stomach, feeling nauseous from the ninety-seven minutes of murder that I just sat through. Her white sundress swirls around her as she bounces up and down on the balls of her feet, her wild hair tumbling across her shoulders. "Wow. I have the jitters—that is my new favorite movie. That was _incredible._ Wow, am I ever exhilarated."

"Glad you liked it." I sigh. I wasn't frightened by the film, but I can't deny that I'm disgusted. "Hermione… how could you _enjoy_ watching that little boy destroy so many people's lives without a second thought? I just don't understand." When she had selected a horror movie, I had expected a film with demons or werewolves, or something like that- not a movie about a sociopath twelve year old!

Hermione halts, staring at me with slight concern. "I'm sorry, Draco. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to… Well, I sort of got carried away. You do have a point. You see, Muggles watch movies with death nearly every day of our lives… and maybe we get a bit desensitized. You _are_ okay, right?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Just a little surprised that people watch that kind of thing for fun. I don't want to dampen your day though." I blush. I'm not a sensitive kid, and I've never considered myself to have qualms with death… but maybe I'll take more time to think about that kind of thing next time I see the obituaries in Mum's Muggle newspaper. I just hope that I'm not coming off as a wuss in front of Hermione.

To my surprise, she seizes my hands, gazing into my eyes with adoration. "Thank you, Draco. I'm glad that you really do have a heart after all." Before I know what's happening, she jumps to her tiptoes and presses her soft lips to my cheek.

* * *

 _A/N: I also don't own the film that Draco and Hermione just went to, so don't sue me. Please review! Oh, and if you like Draco Malfoy love stories, please check out my completed story "The Abuser"._ _Have a lovely day!_


	6. The Worst Day

6\. The Worst Day

* * *

 _WARNING: this chapter contains physical violence against two minors and a woman, once again for entirely unjust reasons. (Abuse is always unjust.) Proceed with caution!_

* * *

My body goes so hot that someone could cook a fried egg on my skin. Her lips are like a quick, soft tickle against my cheek—not even my mother's loving caresses can compare. She pulls away in less than a second, looking unashamed and peaceful. Hermione turns away, her long brown hair blowing under the cool air conditioning of the brightly lit theater.

"Let's get home." She heads for the exit, and I stumble after her feeling light and somewhat woozy.

Hermione Granger just _kissed_ me. She told me that I have a heart and she thanked me. I wish with all my being that I had power over time—I would relive that blissful moment again over and over for the rest of my life. And sure, it was just a peck on the cheek, but it was a bloody bit better than a slap, so I'm satisfied. I open my mouth stupidly as she stands on the sidewalk in front of the theater, the wind rustling her short white sundress. She's the prettiest girl that I've ever seen. She always wears white, I notice. Never anything else—and it's beautiful. I always wear black… in a way I suppose that we would look fitting together. Both of us are a perfect balance of light and dark—on the outside at least.

"Are you coming, slow poke?" She teases, the sun glinting off her shining arms as she holds out her hand for me. I take it, hurrying along at her side as we walk towards home.

"Let me take your purse for you?" I extend my hand, trying to break the slightly awkward silence after her kiss. Well, awkward for me, at least. She seems nonplussed.

"Thanks!" She passes the small back to me, and I gasp at its unexpected weight. "Do you want to be my friend?" She looks up into my eyes, lips slightly parted in a small smile.

I blink, fumbling for words. "Your- your f-friend? You mean- you mean, like-"

"Friend. Noun. A person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of sexual or family relations." She laughs, shaking her head slightly as she rattles off the definition like the dictionary she is.

My heart, which was (up until this point) fluttering around practically in my throat, drops like a stone. That kiss didn't actually mean what I thought. It's as simple as that—she meant something other than what I was thinking when she offered friendship. Exclusive of sexual relations, she said. Not that I want to do _that_ with her, but—but… I pin on a smile, trying to be glad that she at least wants to establish platonic relations. "Yeah, of course I'd like that. Friends then, I suppose."

She pauses in the middle of the sidewalk and shakes my hand vigorously. It's like she doesn't even understand how _good_ she makes me feel. She holds my hand and touches me as if she had no idea that every single moment of contact sends me to heaven.

We walk in silence through the silent streets until we reach my doorstep. She realizes my hand, waving farewell over her shoulder as she turns back to her house. "Bye Draco! Let's hang out tomorrow. I'll come over for breakfast, okay? Don't want to miss your mum's pancakes!"

"See you then, 'Mione!" I smile to myself, quickly hurrying along the short garden walk to my front door. I swing it open, peering inside. "Mum? I'm home! I have really exciting news and—oh."

My mother sits on the low white couch in the living room, fresh blood running down the side of her face and her eyes swollen and red. Her hair is a tangled blonde mess and her shirt is ripped nearly off of her shoulders. Looming behind her with his long fingers clamped cruelly around her shoulders stands my father.

Mum mouths something through swollen and cracked lips, her eyes pleading. She's telling me to run.

"Come here, boy." My father's voice is cold enough to freeze even Hermione Granger's sunny smile.

I stare at him, shaking my head almost imperceptibly. Then I do what I figure is probably either the bravest or stupidest thing that I've even done in my life. I dart past him, almost tripping as I skid into the open kitchen. I seize Mother's largest knife from her little magnetic wall rack, and hold it before me. My hand is shaking so terribly that I almost drop it. "Get out, Father." I say, my voice cracking weakly.

"Put that down, you foolish child." He laughs—a deep, scathing laugh at my expense—and waves his hand. The knife is jerked from my sweaty fingers, hovering in the air before my nose. With a quick jerk of his hand, my father sends the knife whipping past me, slicing my cheek and driving it into the white-washed kitchen wall. I whimper slightly, holding my fingers up to the deep gash in my face, which is beginning to ooze blood down the front of my black tee-shirt. My mother cries out, trembling beneath my father's hands and turning (if possible) even whiter.

"Do I have to come get you, or will you walk over here like the obedient son that I've raised you to be?" My father growls, his long hair hiding half of his face as he beckons me. Mother moans, and he tightens his hold about her throat, leaving bruises as tears spill from her eyes. "Silence, woman. Draco—I'm waiting."

I bow my head and stumble to him, falling on my knees in hopelessness. This is it. Somehow he found us. The best day of my life—the day that Hermione kissed me—is now the worst. Everything is crumbling: my trust in humanity, my dreams, my self-resolve.

My father is just opening his mouth to speak when a smart rapping sounds at the door. We freeze, staring towards the sound. My father steps from behind the couch slowly, deliberately. He makes his way across the room, pulling the door open and bringing a well-known voice to our ears.

"Hey, Draco has my purse, and—oh Merlin." Hermione Granger's brown eyes shift from my father to us, her mouth falling open in fear and distress. With an unfathomably rough movement, Father seizes her by the arm and pulls her into the house, slamming the door behind her. Hermione begins to scream, but his hand covers her mouth, gagging her.

"Stop it! Stop it—let her go!" I yell, rising to my feet and lunging for him in a panic. Her little white purse swings from my shoulder, suddenly remembered. I raise it, beating Father across the back as hard as I possibly can. I'm skinny, but I have pretty good aim, and the added weight of the enchanted bag works to my advantage. It's not much of an advantage however, as he simply jerks the weapon from my hand and throws it to the floor. "Hermione!" I scream, making a grab for her hand as Father half carries, half drags her across the room, setting her roughly on the couch next to Mother.

He turns on me with a vicious leer, pulling me onto the seat as well. "Draco, have you been _playing_ with this mudblood?"

I raise my chin in defiance. "Hermione Granger is my friend, Father. If you lay a hand on her, I will—I will…" My voice trails off. I know that I'll be unable to do anything for Hermione, and that hurts me more than any of the punishments that I've even endured.

He punches me. A single, fluid knock to my jaw that flings me back against the couch. I moan, and Hermione bursts into terrified sobs. "You're a disappointment to me, boy. I'll never be able to tell you that enough times. You and your foolish mother thought that you could… _escape_ me. You must not have realized that I am your owner. It wasn't all that difficult track you two down—I'm surprised at your sloppy work, Narcissa. And you, Draco. Snuggling up with a mudblood, I see. Perhaps you really were paying attention at Hogwarts after all. You seem to have managed to absorb their lessons on that treachery the so-called 'tolerance'. Accepting mudbloods, welcoming mudbloods, _mating_ with mudbloods."

I flush in shame, horrified that these things are being revealed in front of the girl I love. Yes, I do love her—I wanted to be with her always, safe in the arms of this London utopia, but that will never happen. If Father doesn't kill us, then he'll take us away. I'll probably never see her again after this day—he'll never let me go back to Hogwarts.

Hermione's dark face reddens slightly in anger. "How dare you?" She whispers, looking up into his stone cold eyes with all the fool-hardy bravery of a true Gryffindor. His hands wrap around her thin arm, jerking her to her feet. My father slaps her with the back of his hand, just as he had done to me so often. She twitches, more tears streaking down her lightly freckled cheeks as her hands find the bloody gash from his heavy ring. "Get your filthy hands off of me, you _evil_ man." She hisses, sinking her white teeth into his arm without hesitance.

My father snarls in rage, shaking her easily off. She slides across the living room floor, scrambling to her feet and dashing into the kitchen and to our unused telephone on the counter. Father begins to go after her, and I leap from my seat, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him back. He lashes out at me, but I dodge his fist. "Yeah? You want to go after me, Dad? I'm sick of you hurting everyone I love!" Over the sound of my panicky voice, I can hear Hermione speaking quickly into the telephone.

Father punches me again, and I fall onto the floor with my eye swollen and bloodied. His heavy boot crashes down on my ribs with a mind-numbing force, and I feel the slender bones shatter.

"Lucius Malfoy! You _will_ not touch my son like that another time!" Mother stands, seizing a vase of flowers from the low coffee-table before the couch and hurling it at his head. Water and glass spray everywhere as my father makes a noise of pain, wiping blood from the cuts and slices on his face.

Hermione slams the receiver of the telephone down, looking desperately around as if for a weapon. I groan, attempting to struggle to my feet, but succumbing to the agony of my injuries. My mother screams as my father curses, dashing across the room to my side. "Draco? It's all right. Merlin, where's my wand?" Her hand rests reassuringly on my chest as she turns to face Father, who is stumbling towards us with blood coursing over his skin.

"Get out of the way, woman."

Behind us, Hermione whimpers slightly, dropping to the floor and creeping on her knees towards Mother's knife rack.

"Avis Oppugno!" Mother shrieks, waving her hand in the air. My father is skilled in wandless magic, but my mum- despite all of her strengths- is not. A puff of feathers sprinkles down around us, and my father laughs derisively at her failure. She bursts into fearful tears, lunging up at him to bare his way of attack. He hurls her to the side and she yelps in agony as he brings his boot down on my skull. The entire world explodes in pain, before fading to darkness.

* * *

 _A/N: Another quick reminder: I do not think that, under any circumstances, Lucius Malfoy would ever treat his wife and son in such a matter. For the sake of the story, however, I am writing him in a completely OOC format. (I really do ship Lucius and Narcissa big time!)_


	7. The Story

7\. The Story

* * *

 _WARNING: Discussion of physical abuse! If you are unsettled by that kind of thing, please be careful._

* * *

Beeping. A stream of continuous noise in my ear—just the metallic ring of some machine in the darkness. I wince, twisting under soft blankets. I open my eyes, blinking in the sudden flood of light. I'm in a white-washed room, lying in a small bed encircled by curtains. I can hear the soft murmur of voices nearby, and the ever-present beeping noise coming from the strange contraptions at my bedside. I feel straps around my arm, and my ribs hurt terribly.

At this moment, I really wish that I was in the Wizarding world. My injuries would have been taken care of by now. I try to sit up, but fall back onto my pillow with a wheeze. A woman appears at the foot of my bed, dressed all in white. She looks at me for a moment with slight surprise, then bustles from view calling out for someone else. Seconds later, a young man is kneeling beside me, checking the beeping machine. "Where's Hermione and my mum?" I demand, consumed by a sudden fear that they might have been killed by my father while I was unconscious. "And—and what happened to my dad?" I finish, fearing the very use of the word.

"Your mother and friend are doing fine, they're in another ward and they're both conscious. They might be able to come visit you soon." His voice is so soothing that it irritates me. I hate it when people sound kind for no obvious reason, and I don't like being treated as if I'm helpless. "As for your father… I don't know. He hasn't been checked in." The young man smiles pleasantlt, and I scowl back.

"Where am I? When can I get out of this bed?" I probably sound winy, but I'm not one to pussy-foot around when I want answers.

The man grins again and tells me that I'm at the hospital, and I won't be able to get up until I've been looked over and had sufficient enough time to rest and recover. I moan as he departs, wishing that I had something to do. My father was right—I am such a disappointment. I failed to protect the two people I love, and now I'm strapped into a hospital bed, unable to see or talk to them. I close my eyes, feeling the hot prickle of shameful tears against my eyelids. I shouldn't cry. That's just about the most unmanly thing that I can imagine—but I feel so lonely and afraid. We'll probably have to move away, now that my father knows where we live.

I roll over as much as the wires attached to my arm will allow, stroking my blankets in an oddly comforting motion as I drift into a fitful sleep.

* * *

"Hey."

I wake to the soft face of Hermione Granger, leaning over me in her white bathrobe. One of her brown eyes is covered by a bandage and her arm is in a cast.

"I'm so sorry-" I begin immediately, but she cuts me off with a hiss for silence.

"Don't be. It's hardly your fault—and you were so brave! I wouldn't have gone through the dangerous ordeal of escaping from the smothering watch of my parents to come see you if I had been angry." I break her gaze, staring up at the white ceiling with a blush of mortification. "Draco? Why didn't you ever tell anyone? How long has that been happening?" her voice is nothing but a soft whisper as her hand finds my arm, touching me gently.

I snort bitterly. "Why should I tell anyone? They'd all use it against me. Besides, it has been well deserved. You know, Hermione, I'll bet that I'm the biggest bleeding failure that the Wizarding world has ever seen." I block her look of hurt from my mind, focusing only on the sour taste of anger flooding my mouth.

"You're not a failure, Draco." She says hesitantly. "You're the smartest boy that I've ever met, and you're a genuinely nice person."

"Really? Cause you sure didn't think that for the first three years of school!" I spit, simultaneously hating and loving the rage within me.

"Well, I think so now." She says slowly. "I'm willing to give second chances—we're friends now, aren't we? Or are you just one of those 'fair-weather' pals, who gives up as soon as a bump comes along?"

I narrow my eyes, feeling rather trapped. "I'm not—but- but you don't understand! You have the _perfect_ family. You live in a stable home, with love all around, and a father who treats you like his little princess. I don't have that! Don't you see? I've never—ever since I can remember—heard my father tell me that I've made him proud. When I was little and he came home from work, he didn't kiss me or ask me about my day like yours does. He always found some fault to point out."

I gaze wildly at her, feeling the furious wave of words pushing and ebbing at my mind, forcing me to spit them out in her terrified face. "And then he started _drinking_. He had always found a lover in the bottle, but when I was ten years old, it became more than that. It became his _life_. He beat our house-elf, he beat my mother, he beat _me_. The first time that it happened I was playing in the backyard. He called me in, and Merlin was he ever drunk. He told me that no Malfoy wastes his time _playing_ —no Malfoy would ever want to pursue the things that I found interesting. He- he called me over, and he put his heavy, heavy hands on my shoulders."

My voice breaks, but I can't stop. I've wanted to talk about this for my entire life; I've needed some form of release. "He asked me what I was going to be when I grew up, and like the foolish child that I was, I told him the truth. I told him that I was going to become an Unspeakable. That didn't settle well with the great Lucius Malfoy, though."

I laugh loudly, gasping as the motion causes my ribs to scream in pain. "He beat me that day. He was too drunk to know what the heck he was even doing, but the next morning when he was sober, he saw my bruises." I hold my hand in the air, showing off the pink and white scars of four years like a medal.

With another choking laugh, I continue. "Oh, he smiled. The most _sadistic_ smile that you could ever imagine. He called me over—a frightened, confused, little boy—and he pulled up my shirt. My mother had tried, you see. She had tried to cover the welts. Her specialty lies in those glamour charms, but not even they can fix everything. They can't take away the pain, you see. He made sure that I understood that he had really _meant_ the punishment. He enforced in my mind, that morning that it wasn't just a drunken rage — that it was _deserved_. I've been conditioned to treat everyone the same. I'm not blaming anyone but myself, but I've been taught to conceal how I feel behind a mask of cold indifference. And that's nothing to his treatment of my mother. That sweet, proud, woman has taken the brunt of every sick thought in his twisted mind—but she still loves me for my _failure_ to protect her. _My_ failure, Hermione. It's all my fault—you saw what he's like, he _hurt_ you… and all I was able to do was black out like a useless infant on the floor." I wipe away the tears that are beginning to leak down my cheeks, feeling thoroughly spent and ashamed of my outburst.

Hermione makes a weak, choking sound. Her one un-bandaged hand flies to her mouth, and tears begin to shine in her eyes. "Oh. Oh, Draco—I am so, so sorry."

I cut her off roughly, turning away to hide my pain. "I don't want your sympathy, Hermione. I can't stand such emotions—that's why I didn't want anyone to know."

"Then don't take my sympathy, take my apology. I am sorry for the way that I have treated you. Can you forgive me for not giving you a chance—for never looking to see who you truly were? Harry, Ron, and I misjudged you, and I'd like to apologize for that."

I face her; my cheeks burning and my mouth open slightly. "I- I- thanks, Hermione. I forgive you, then. And sorry for, you know, being a prat."

She nods and smiles, rising to her feet in a graceful movement. "You're wearing white."

I look down, noticing for the first time my white hospital gown. "Yeah?" I shrug, confused by her simple observation.

"It looks nice. You should try that more often for a change."

* * *

"Lean on me, sweetheart. That's good."

"Mum! I'm not a baby! My legs are hardly broken- I can support myself just fine." I laugh, shoving her gently away. She smiles and makes a motion to open the front door to our house, but I halt her with a light touch. "Before we go in, can you answer two questions for me?"

Her large blue eyes search me, and she parts her lips before giving a miniscule nod. "What is it?"

"What happened to _him_ —Dad, I mean?"

She frowns, casting her gaze to the ground with a sharp intake of breath. "We tussled for a bit, but as soon as the sirens from the police came into range, he Disapparated. Hermione showed great wisdom by calling the police. To be perfectly honest, we would have never made it without her. Anything else?"

I bite my lip, staring around at the neighborhood that I've actually come to love. "Are we going to have to leave?" I whisper, overcome with fear and regret.

Mother pulls me into a hug, rubbing my shoulders gently as she speaks softly into my ear. "Oh, Draco. Let's just go inside first—let's enjoy the evening. We can talk about the more serious things tomorrow."

I nod faintly and allow her to open the door for me while I lean on my crutches. I'm greeted by an enormous banner on which "Welcome home Draco!" is written in drippy multi-colored ink, and a fistful of confetti to the face. I spit the stuff out, gasping as Hermione engulfs me in a warm hug.

"Gentle!" I protest, detaching her from my still-tender ribs. Mr. and Mrs. Granger sit on our low white couches, beaming at me. Mother bursts into laughter as Hermione blushes.

"Surprise!" She exclaims, nudging me into the house and closing the door behind us. Her pale face is flushed with happiness, and the faint bruises still covering her collarbone and face do nothing to dampen her radiant, motherly beauty.

"You did all of this for me?" I ask, dumbfounded. This gathering may be comprised of my mother and our next-door neighbors… but I've never had this kind of party thrown for me before. Then again, Mother always found kind things to do for me behind Father's back, like all the sweets she sent me at the start of each term. Not that Father didn't spoil me either—yet his gifts came with a lot less love and more manipulation.

Hermione tugs on my hand, pulling me into the front room. "Of course! We figured that you might want a bit of an encouragement after three days in the hospital!" With a smirk, she unzips her white hoodie, reveling bare skin and the little white bikini that I saw her in on my first day here. "Go on then, go to your room and change! We can swim while the parents are making dinner—it'll help the bruises, trust me."

I nod, dumping my crutches on the floor and hurrying towards my room to change into my swimming trunks. Hermione and I have been swimming several times since her mother bought me the trunks, but she's only worn a one-piece. For some reason, the bikini fills me with a sense of detached nostalgia. This night, for all I know, may be my last place in this town—how fitting that she would wear the first thing that I saw her in. Alright, technically the first thing that I ever saw her in was her Hogwarts robes when we were eleven, but my point still stands.

I pull on my black trunks as quickly as possible and yank a dark tank-top over my head before bolting back into the front room. "Woah! Slow down, you don't want to trip and get yourself back into the hospital on your first night out, do you now?" My mother cautions from the kitchen.

I halt, panting slightly. "Sorry mum. Where'd Hermio-"

"Hermione's out in the pool already." Mr. Granger finishes with a chuckle. "I'll call you two in when dinner's ready." I hastily nod my thanks, opening the glass door to our backyard and stepping out into the warm summer's evening. Hermione sits on the edge of the pool, one dark hand trailing in the water.

"What took you so long?" She teases, splashing me lightly as I sit beside her.

"Nothing." I grin at her, quelling the inward tremor that I may never see her again. What if mum tries to leave the country to escape dad? What if she decides to go _back_ to him? In that scenario, my survival might be questionable, but if I did live, an education at Durmstrang's would probably be inevitable.

She slips into the water, a tanned streak beneath the shimmering waves. Hermione breaks the surface after several moments, shaking water from her long brown hair. "Come on! Get in—it's really warm." She treads water expectantly as I ease in. The warmth could, in my opinion, be extremely debatable… but then again, I've never been the biggest fan of swimming. I do this for her sake—she loves it. I stand with the water lapping against my collarbone, breathing slowly to adjust the shift of pressure on my ribs. "Why don't you take off your shirt? It'll actually be nicer without it."

I shake my head at her, thinking about the marks that not even the strongest of spells could disguise. "I really prefer this." I say, glancing musingly up at the twilight stars. I tense as her fingers wrap around my shoulders and she presses her stomach against my back.

"Maybe, when I defined friendship… I should have _expanded_ my horizons. Or maybe, I should have just cut to the chase and told you exactly how much you mean to me. I should have—but I left you hanging." She murmurs, resting her chin on my shoulder and pressing her lips to my ear.

I blink, frozen in anticipation and surprise. "Hermione?" I squeak, immediately regretting opening my mouth, for my voice breaks embarrassingly, making her giggle.

"I like you, Draco. I mean, I _really_ like you." She says, dipping under the water and resurfacing at the pool's edge. She pulls herself onto the concrete patio, her dark lean body glistening wetly and her little white bikini shining in sharp relief through the fast darkening air. "It's cold. I'm going to run over to my house to get changed and dried off. I'll be right back." She waves goodbye over her shoulder and scurries from my yard without a backwards glance.

I haul myself from the pool, scarcely noticing the cold for the heat rushing through my body. She likes me. It's like my entire brain has disappeared, but I could care less. It's all I can do to stop myself from saying my thoughts out loud. No, not saying— _screaming._ Hermione Granger is the cutest, hottest, most desirable girl that I have ever laid eyes on. I resort to a semi jig, and punch the air about a hundred times before calming myself.

I just hope that this isn't all another misunderstanding on my part. And even if it isn't… I won't be able to stay.

* * *

 _A/N: I don't own Harry Potter, and Lucius would never do the things that are described above- at least in my personal opinion._


	8. The Ugly Truth

8\. The Ugly Truth

* * *

 _A/N: I'm sorry for my delay in updating! I hope that all of you who celebrated Memorial Day had a terrific holiday!_ _Thank you so much to all of those who took their time to review this story! I was reading them and smiling so wide—you are all absolutely lovely! Also, once again, this is completely OOC, and I don't own HP._

* * *

My eyes flutter open and I immediately toss my blankets onto the floor beside my small bed. This is it—the morning that my mother will finally explain our plan for the coming years. I fling my bedroom door open, turning one last time before exiting the room to stare at the chipped and faded photograph on my dresser top. Its face is to the wall, but I don't need to see the three faintly moving figures to remember what they look like. Even if Mother decides to return to my father's vindictive grasp, I know that we will never be that same complete family again.

I hurry to the bathroom for a hot shower, making sure to put on a little extra cologne for my possible farewell to Hermione Granger.

My mother is waiting for me, sitting stiffly on one of the kitchen bar-stools with a cup of cold tea clasped between her trembling hands. She looks up as I enter, her lank blonde hair stirring slightly as she sniffs. "Draco. Sit down, will you?" I nod, slumping onto a stool beside her and gazing into her red-rimmed eyes. "What I'm about to tell you… well, it might be hard for you to understand. Just know that I love you darling, and these choices that I'm making are for your own good!"

I frown, running through the countless woeful decisions that Mum might be about to bring to my ears. "I know, I know. Please, just tell me!" I half snap, half beg.

She purses her lips, looking over-wrought and despondent. "I'm going back." She says finally.

I nod slowly—I had been expecting news along these lines. "No, Mum, we can find another way! You know that if we go back, he'll just kill us!"

Mother smiles tensely, and I find myself unable to tear my gaze from the purple-grey bruises beneath her blue eyes. "That's the thing, Draco. You're not going back. _I_ am. Now, your Auntie Andromeda will-"

"No." I slam my fists on the countertop, causing her to start slightly in terror. "No, no, no!" I bring my hands down forcefully to enforce each slow word of refusal. "We are not going to be separated—I will not allow it! You may be my mother, but I'm also responsible for my own actions, and I say that if you go, I go too."

To my surprise, Mother bursts into tears, burying her pale face in her hands and sobbing like the world is over. "I- I'm such a t-t-terrible m-mother! I've f-failed you—I've failed y-y-you! There's n-no other way, d-don't you s-see?"

"You haven't failed me! I've told you before and I'll tell you again—you're all I have, and I love you!" I say loudly, slipping from my seat and beginning to pace instinctively before the bar. "There is another way, I'm sure of it. What about…what about… court? That's it!" I snap my fingers, feeling a sudden rush of confidence. "Ha-ha! Yes! We can take Lucius Malfoy to court. He'll never get away with the things that he's done to us once the Ministry gets involved!"

"Draco." My mother looks up, her words soft and her eyes brimming. "Draco, that won't work. In accordance with Wizard law, the wife and under-aged children _are_ considered the legal property of the wizard. No matter what we tell the Wizengamot, the fact remains that I am still the lawfully wed wife of your father, and therefore he has a right to do as he pleases."

"That's just not _fair_!" I complain, halting in my tireless cycle to stare at her. "I just— that simply isn't moral. How can it be?"

Mother shakes her head slowly. "Life isn't very moral, Draco. It's time you understand that."

Well, I'm not stupid. Of course I know that life isn't moral! I'm Draco Malfoy—or Black—I'm a pretty darned nasty person. I had hoped, at least, that the Wizengamot and the laws that govern the British Wizarding world would encourage justice, not slavery and abuse. "Yes Mother." I say sullenly, turning from her to heat water for my tea. "Well, we'll both go back then."

"Don't you see? If you return with me, then you'll be dooming yourself to immeasurable pain and a dead childhood. I don't want that for you! You're my only son, and I pray every day and night for your happiness and safety. If you only went to stay with your Aunt-"

"I'm going with you." I say firmly, jerking the cupboard door open and retrieving a mug.

Mother groans, starting a fresh round of tears and sniffles. "I- I s-suppose that its up- up to y-you."

I sigh, understanding her internal anguish as if it was my own. In my heart, I realize that a life on the run from my father simply isn't plausible. One small thwarting from his rouge wife, child, and the filthy mudblood neighbor-girl is hardly going to deter him from finding his prize. Perhaps if we return voluntarily and decide to submit, he might have a bit more mercy than he will if he hunts us down himself. "Yeah. I'm coming with you. We're going to figure this out together, and this time, I promise you that I'll protect you."

Mother stumbles from her stool, giving me a very soggy hug and wiping her eyes on her pajama sleeve. "You go say goodbye to Hermione. We'll take the Knight Bus to the Leaky Cauldron and then use the Floo from there tonight. I'll—I'll send an owl to your father… and then I need to get some shut-eye. I didn't sleep a wink last night." She snuffles again, walking slowly to the hallway before turning back to give me a weak smile. "Thank you Draco. Oh, and for my sake at least, give Hermione what she deserves."

I nod, watching her slim figure retreat into the shadows. I set my neglected mug on the countertop and run my fingers through my hair quickly. It only takes a few moments to walk to Hermione's front door, but I want it to last much, much longer. I want every second that I have left in this London paradise to last forever—and I dread breaking the news to the girl next door.

I swallow, take a deep breath, and knock on the Grangers' cream colored door. It swings open, and I find myself gazing down into Hermione's beautiful dark face split into a toothy white grin. "Hey, Draco! I guess this means that you're staying then—right?"

I sigh, looking down and scuffing at the paved step in awkward grief. "No, Hermione, it doesn't." My eyes are closed so that I don't have to see her face fall.

"Well, come on then." She seizes my hand, hurrying past me with her long brown hair bouncing. "If this is my last day with you before term starts, then we're going to spend it together. Let's go on a bike ride to the park—it's cloudy today, there won't be anyone there!"

My breath hitches in my dry throat. I don't have the heart to tell her that I probably will never see her again. Father won't let me return to Hogwarts, I'd bet my Nimbus 2001. "There's nothing I'd rather do." I say quietly, mounting Myranda Granger's sliver bike and pumping fast to catch up with Hermione, who seems to be trying to avoid conversation or contact. Typically it's me who is uncomfortable when we're together—she seems inhibited most of the time. Even after telling me that she might have feelings of some sort for me last night, she carried on like nothing had ever happened. We had dinner and cake and played games without broaching the topic again, though I was nearly dying of desire by the time that the evening was over.

She dumps her white bike carelessly on the wood-chips bordering the neighborhood playground, and I follow her to a seat on the swings. Hermione keeps her dark eyes focused on the road ahead, swaying slightly in the rather unseasonal cold breeze. She looks prettier than ever in her usual white. "Draco?" She turns to me quite suddenly, tears shining in her large brown eyes and a frown on her freckled forehead.

"Yeah?" I raise my eyes, feeling helpless and shallow under her deep gaze. "Is something wrong, 'Mione?"

"Kiss me."

I blink. I've never kissed a girl before, and I figured that the moment would be a bit more, well, expected. "You really want me too? I- I mean, H-Hermione-" She leans forward, the chains of her swing clinking in the breeze as I mirror her motion. I close my eyes as our lips touch, surprised at the sweetness of her mouth as I wrap my arms around her waist.

The kiss isn't long, nor is it overly deep, but it's enough. Hermione's brown eyes shine with dark desire as we pull apart, and I brush a wisp of her curly hair from her cheek, wondering if I did alright. "Thank you, Draco." She whispers, smoothing out her sweater and reaching for my hand. "I love you."

"I love you too, Hermione." I feel stupid saying that—if only my mouth could form something more poetic!

We sit for the longest time, hand in hand as the sky begins to darken. There isn't any need to speak; we're both too consumed with our thoughts. I'm wrung out with grief and that heavenly feeling that Hermione always manages to give me. She really does fancy me—she _loves_ me! "We should get going." I say shortly, rising to my feet and releasing my grip on her soft hand.

Before I know what's happening, her arms are around me. She holds me tightly, sobbing onto my chest as I rub her back. "I-I c-can't lose you!" She stumbles, wiping tears from her dark cheeks and gazing soulfully up into my eyes.

I suddenly know that she understands. She won't be seeing me again, and she is fully aware of that fact. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—I love you, I never want to leave you, Hermione!"

Hermione reaches into her jeans' pocket and digs out a rather creased slip of paper. "You'll never forget me, will you? Here, this way you'll never have to lose me entirely—I'll always be with you, I promise!" I unfold the paper slowly, smiling at the simple photograph of her joy filled face. It doesn't move, and in a way I'm glad of that. This picture represents everything that Hermione Granger is—Muggle upbringing and all.

"You're the most beautiful girl in the world. Thank you… I'll keep this until the day I die; I'll never let it go! I only wish that I had something to give you too." I rack my brains for a moment, trying desperately to think of some keep sake for her to remember me by.

"It's okay. I see you every time I close my eyes, and I have a feeling that that won't stop with your absence." She bows her head, and we walk slowly back to our bicycles. The ride home seems shorter than ever, and before I know it, I'm back at my doorstep being greeted by my distraught mother.

She's already packed my things, and starts to drag our luggage to the roadside while Hermione and I take our few final moments together. We stand hand-in-hand, and after a few moments she rises to her tiptoes, lifting her face close to mine.

I tighten my grip on her as we kiss, wishing that this moment would last for the rest of eternity, and that I would never have to break away from her sweet lips and return to the harsh reality of the surrounding world. I run my fingers through her fluffy curls, surprised as salty water begins to roll down her cheeks, streaking my own as our faces rub. She pulls away, covering her mouth in slight humiliation and blushing as more sobs begin to shake her shoulders. "I- I love you, Draco. I love you so much."

We hug one final time, but the experience is blighted by my own fear and sorrow. My mother's soft hand comes to a rest on my shoulder, and I realize that it's time to leave. "Goodbye, Hermione Granger." I turn from her, feeling hollow and cold. It's almost as if the heart that was finally beginning to beat over my two short weeks with her is freezing over once again.

Mother grips my arms, her chest heaving slightly under the weight of her stoic silence. She pulls her wand from her traveling cloak pocket, and raises it in the air to signal the Knight Bus. I turn one last time to stare at our white house surrounded by rolling green lawns. Our neighbor's door slams as the brown haired girl disappears into the quiet safety of her loving family's arms.

I take a deep breath and reach for my trunk in a desperate grasp for a sense of reality. This is it—time to face the truth of what lies ahead. If I survive, then I guess that I'll be one lucky guy. My free hand finds the tiny photo of Hermione Granger in my pocket, and my fingers curl tightly around it. Lucky, but alone.


	9. The Murder

9\. The Murder

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 _WARNING: This chapter contains abuse. If you think that you might get upset, please be careful!_

* * *

How fitting that it should rain. The wind and water pour down around my mother and I as we hurry from the Knight Bus with our heads bowed and the hoods of our cloaks pulled up to cover our faces. I hold the door of the Leaky Cauldron open for Mother, and stand in a shivering puddle as she purchases Floo Powder from Tom. This is it… we're really going back to Malfoy Manor. Just a few more moments, and we'll be stepping right back into my father's vindictive grasp.

I wonder what he'll do first. Beat my mother, perhaps? Or maybe he'll go straight for me. He might choose to use his typical leather strap, but then again, he might desire something a little more "hands on". Perhaps he'll chain me in the downstairs dungeon and simply punch and hit me until I'm black and blue. Or he might decide to cut to the chase and start things out with a simple Cruciatus. I wouldn't put it past him.

Mother beckons me forward, reaching with a trembling hand into Tom the Barkeeper's small satchel and drawing out a fistful of shimmering powder. "Go right after me, Draco. Don't wait too long—just until the fire goes back to normal, alright dear?"

"Yeah. Sure." I shrug, trying to mask my terror with indifference. She takes a deep breath and tosses the powder into the roaring fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron. The flames spiral upwards in a green wall, and she steps into their midst with a look of pale determination.

"Malfoy Manor." My mother is engulfed in the fire, and a few moments later I know that it's my turn.

I can't help but think, as I take a handful of the Floo Powder and slowly approach the grate, about what condition Mother might be in by the time I make the journey. Father works with fast brutality, and in the few minutes time that will occur between her arrival and mine, he could easily knock her senseless, or worse. I let the glittery dust fall from my fingers, and it almost seems to work in slow motion, turning each individual flame green with breathtakingly precise downtempo. I close my eyes and walk straight into the enormous fireplace, ignoring the gentle flutter of the harmless fire as I struggle to form the words that I know I must speak. "Malfoy Manor." I manage, and immediately find myself being whirled along at a dizzying pace.

With a thud, the grate coughs me up and I find myself standing in the ashes of my old parlor fireplace. Mother sits on the black leather easy chair before me, with my father's hands clasped firmly around her mouth to prevent her from crying out. "Hello, son." His voice is horrible—so smooth and manipulative, but dangerous enough to kill.

"Good evening, Father." I brush off my cloak, coughing up a small amount of soot but still managing to sound steady.

"Sit down." He gestures to the long couch beside my mother's seat and I stride over to it, keeping my pace as grand and even as possible. "Let's talk about your little escapades this past week, shall we Narcissa?" Father raises his eyebrows slightly, looking down into my mother's teary face with a sadistic smile. She nods in weak consent beneath his restraining fingers. "You and your bastard little son thought that you could escape me—your rightful owner and _protector_ —didn't you?" Mother doesn't move. Father wheels on me with a look of ferocity, his long sliver-blond hair swinging slightly as his grey eyes narrow. "Since this useless woman seems to have been struck not only dumb but also incapable of movement, you can have the pleasure of answering me Draco."

I blink rapidly, trying to scrape up a plausible and pleasing lie that will hopefully abate my father's anger enough to save our skins. "Father, at first we held such notions, but as time passed it became increasingly clear to us that you are all powerful and escape was fu-"

"Save me the useless flattery, boy. A simple 'yes' or 'no' will suffice."

I raise my chin, staring into my father's cold face with as much bravery as I can muster. I figure I'm doing pretty bleeding well for not being a Gryffindor. "Yes." There—I said it. Hopefully he won't kill us both.

Father tilts his head back, smiling broadly as he narrows his eyes in prideful evaluation. "I knew it." He clasps his hands together suddenly, laughing boisterously as he turns back to Mother, who is still trembling and mute even without his fingers covering her mouth. "I knew it! You stupid, stupid woman. I thought that you were better than this! I thought that you were better than this when I married you, Cissy." He takes a step towards her, his hands curling and uncurling into fists.

"Don't touch my mother." I stand, invigorated by a vivid flash of recollection—the memory of my father beating the two witches who I love more than any others. Hermione and Mother were so brave that day, and I failed to do my manly duty and protect them. It was the women who saved my life, but I figure that it's high time I step up to the plate. I'm a Slytherin—we almost always choose the option that benefits us the most, which typically ends in "wimping out"- but maybe tonight I'll pretend that I'm a member of the Golden Trio. Just this once I'm brave and selfless, able to defeat the bad guys and have dashing escapades of foolhardy valiance without getting hurt.

"Really? You think that you can order me around, Draco? Are you the father all of a sudden, and I the disobedient child?"

Forget bravery. Forget the Golden Trio. I want to Disapparate into a little safe cupboard and hide for the rest of my life… but I can't give up. I can't let my mother down again. "No. But I do think that I can protect my mum from a monster like you—and I will, even if I die trying!"

My father laughs again much to my disgust. "Well, have at it then." He jerks my mother to her feet, digging his nails into her shoulder and shaking her before my line of vision. "Are you giving your best to save her, Draco? Perhaps you are—I've seen your efforts before and they're pitiful."

My face contorts in anger and I prepare to spit out a furious retort, but Mother raises her voice to silence me. "Sit down, Draco. Sit down right now—let your father do as he pleases." Her tone constricts as Father lifts her slightly from the ground, smiling venomously. His wand moves so fast that I barely catch the swift gesture with which he slices deep cuts over her collarbone. Mother cries out, the blood beginning to trickle down her bosom.

"P-put her d-down! Take me i-instead. Do whatever you p-please, just use m-me! If you have to kill someone… kill me." I plead, stumbling over my words as I attempt to keep the fear from poisoning my mind.

Father drops Mother like a stone, and she cowers on her knees, retching weakly. "I wouldn't want to kill you, Draco. You- as much of a disgusting failure as you are- are my only method for carrying the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy on. This woman, however, is sterile and therefore of no more use to the family."

I've known that my mother can't have any more children since I was little… but the thought that Father sees nothing more in his own wife and son than a conveyance of the pureblood line actually surprises me.

"Lucius… please…" Mother raises her tear stained face to his, stretching out her hands. "We were so deep in love once…."

"Were we?" Father smiles slowly, the glint of malice in his cold eyes almost rooting me to the ground in fear. "I must have forgotten. Avada Kedavra." The green light fills the room, and the life leaves my mother's eyes without a sound. Father pockets his wand, stepping over her body and from the room. He pauses for a moment at the door, not bothering to look back as he addresses me. "You'll be attending Durmstrang from now on, Draco. I hope that you'll take these remaining days of summer to prepare for the upcoming term. Make sure that you don't disappoint me again."

I drop to my knees over my mother's still form, tracing her face with my hands in shock and terror. He killed her. Lucius Malfoy killed his own wife with one of the unforgivable curses, and he didn't even glance back at her body. "Mum?" For a split second, I almost hope that she has somehow survived, but no one has ever managed to do that. No one but Potter. My mother would, of course, not be so fortunate. "I'm so sorry." I don't cry as I slip my fingers over her eyelids, closing them for the last time. If it wasn't for the cuts and bruises, she could almost be asleep, and I like to think of it as that way. I blink, wishing that I knew of some way to express the pain that I feel, that I could burst out into the wild sobs befitting this deprivation. I can't.

My heart beats almost sluggishly as I lift my mother, stretching her on the leather couch. I stare unfeelingly at her, picturing the way that she would recline on the low white couches in our front room back… home. I guess that the grief will hit me later, perhaps when I'm in my huge four-poster bed tonight I'll realize that she's actually gone—that I'll never see her again as long as I live. She'll never wake me up with a cheerful "Good morning, sleepyhead!" She'll never leave me little notes or call me "Darling". She won't even make a tray of blueberry muffins for breakfast. I'll never taste her slightly burnt salmon again.

I actually smile, God knows why. It seems partially irreverent to express joy at a moment like this, but I do anyway. One last smile in memory of her love and laughter. I figure that Father will deal with her body. Transfigure her into a slip of paper and toss her into the fire, like as not. By the time that I'm off to Durmstrang in a few days, there will most certainly be nothing left of Narcissa Malfoy but a memory.

I turn from the room, feeling weighted down like never before. I truly am alone in every sense of the word. Perhaps I'll make friends at Durmstrang, but then again I probably won't. I'm not sure if I want to get close to anyone ever again. I pull Hermione's photo from my pocket, staring in awe at her happy, unblemished face. "Someday." I vow aloud, gazing into her dark eyes with a tiny flame of purpose. "Someday, Hermione Granger, I will kiss your lips again."

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 _A/N: Thank you so much to all of you who took the time to review! I love you all. Also, I don't own Harry Potter (which ya'll should know by now), and this is completely OOC. Narcissa is not a saint, and Lucius is not a complete monster- they are both flawed (but very much in love) human beings, at least according to my honest opinion. I know that I haven't portrayed that through this particular story, but I'd still like you to be clear on where my personal opinion stands._


	10. The Epilogue

10\. The Epilogue (Six Years Later)

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I blow on my chilled hands as I step from the smoldering grate into the warm bustle of the busy pub. My head is still spinning from the rather lengthy journey by Floo Network. Shaking my shoulders slightly to dislodge the snow from my furry coat, I shoulder my way through the mirthful crowd to the bar, searching for a helpful face. A young woman with short blonde hair and a low-cut dress scurries to my side, leaning forward and grinning roguishly. She looks almost familiar—but no, I could never place her.

"Can I 'elp yeh with anythin', darlin'?" She turns into the light just enough for the metal name-tag pinned to her lacy bosom to catch my eye. It reads "Hannah Abbott".

I clear my throat, rubbing my slightly chapped lips together as I try to put my query into words. "Uh… yeah. I'm looking for a certain Hermione Granger. Have you heard of her?"

The blonde girl narrows her blue eyes, nodding slowly. "Yeah. I've more than 'eard of 'er. Went to 'ool with 'er, I did. She's a right successful young lady now, she is. Yeh'll find 'er right down the lane out back. She's got a room in the flats right to the side o' Gringots. Don' know the name of 'em myself, but yeh'll find 'er there. Number eighteen, by my reckonin'." I nod briefly in thanks and prepare to leave the cheery dimness of the Leaky Cauldron for the bleak night of Diagon Alley when the barmaid brushes my arm gently. "Hey, yeh look rather familiar, yeh do. Do I know yeh?"

"No. I figure you don't." I turn from her and push from the crowded pub, breathing in the chilly evening air with a sigh of relief. I haven't been back in England for six years, as I always spent my holidays and summers at Durmstrang. The professors made provisions for me when I told them that I was an orphan. I am now, anyway. I heard from a companion that my father died during the uprising of the Dark Lord two years ago, and I can hardly say that I was grieved. I think I'll go back to my mother's maiden name: Black. The very thought of the family Malfoy sickens me.

I tap the brick wall out back of the Leaky Cauldron with my wand, stepping away slightly as it parts to allow me entrance into the Alley beyond. Next to the frigid climate surrounding Durmstrang, this British Christmas breeze seems almost mild, but I can't suppress a slight shiver as I walk through the brightly lit lane towards the girl I love. So much has changed, but the one thing that hasn't is my little photo of Hermione Granger in my coat pocket. My stiff fingers find it instinctively, caressing its well-worn creases with growing desperation.

By my guess, Hermione must be twenty-one years old by now. Father's specific instructions were to block all letters between any Hogwarts student and I, and my professors were very adept at carrying out his orders, so we haven't had contact. I wonder if she's waited, or if I'll knock on the door of Number 18 to find her wrapped in the arms of some more faithful man than I. Weasley perhaps, or maybe Potter. The news of Potter's stunning victory over the Dark Lord reached even my uninterested ears at Durmstrang, but I couldn't concern myself with such matters. I graduated with honors, Head Boy and much praised for my advanced healing charms and alchemic works. I suppose that I would have made my father proud.

Mother, I'm sure, is proud. Perhaps I'll find a place to set a headstone in her honor—perhaps I'll visit now and then to plant a flower in her memory. Someday I might even try to go back to my old address in that London suburb. I'd like to see the park and the Soda Fountain one last time. I'm even mildly curious about the fate of Frank—though only God knows why.

I take a deep breath, smiling almost grimly at the misty fog drifting from my parted lips under the golden glow from a lighted shop window. Ahead of me loom the once-familiar towers of Gringots Bank, just as imposing now as it was when I was fourteen. Besides the building, and somewhat in its shadow, crouches a multi-storied arrangement of flats. They must be new, as I don't remember seeing them before.

With a slight cough, I brush the traces of snow from the collar of my heavy coat and mount the steep outdoor steps to the second floor, searching for the number eighteen in the faint light from the tiny door lamps. There it is; a brown door against grey stone with a shining silver one and eight embossed above it. I raise my hand, then lower it. It's half amusing that I would find myself confronted with the same crises that I faced over six years ago, also on Hermione Granger's doorstep. I found the courage that sunny summer morning, and I can do so again.

 _Thud. Thud. Thud_.

Each slow knock of my fist against the cold wood makes my heart skip a beat. My free hand once again finds its way to my pocket, and I wrap my fingers around the photo of her fourteen year old self as if it was my last saving grace. Light footsteps are coming nearer, and I can hear laughter and music coming in faint strains through the thin door. The sound is switched suddenly off, and a youthful female voice cries out.

"I'll be there in a moment! Let me get decent first." A second passes before the door is flung open. A young woman with long brown curls and wide eyes stands in a dark silhouette against the golden light of her apartment room. Her tanned hand tightens quickly against the wooly white fabric of her robe, and she draws it closer to cover her lacy white slip and shorts. "I- I…"

I smile, drawing closer and pulling the hood of my black coat down to reveal my face. "Merry Christmas, Hermione Granger."

Before I know what's happening, her strong arms are around me and she's hanging from my shoulders as we kiss. Six years hasn't managed to change the sweet taste of her lips or the soft whisper of her breath against my cheek. I run my hands over her waist as she pulls away, her eyes shining with tears and her face split into that well-loved, toothy grin. I could count every single freckle on her cheeks as she tugs me into the quiet warmth of her room.

"Merry Christmas to you too." She whispers raptly, encircling me again in her tearful grasp. "I've waited for you, Draco Malfoy."

* * *

 _Finis_


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